Weaknesses
by Philote
Summary: As it turns out, future leaders of humanity get the flu as easily as mere mortals. In John's weakness, Derek may be discovering his own strength.


Title: Weaknesses

Author: philote_auctor

Rating: PG

Fandom: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles

Characters/Pairing: Derek, John, Charley (gen)

Word Count: ~3140

Disclaimer: The characters and situations of _Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles_ do not belong to me. I make no money from this story. Please don't sue.

Author's Notes: Written for small fandom fest. Prompt was "Derek & or / John, not like you were in the future." This is set sometime in season 1. Possible spoilers throughout that season, though really nothing specific apart from the revelation (or lack thereof) of Derek's relation to the family.

Summary: As it turns out, future leaders of humanity get the flu as easily as mere mortals. In John's weakness, Derek may be discovering his own strength.

oOo

Derek's skin had been itching all day with a vague sense of danger.

John was relatively safe at school, but Sarah and Cameron had gone off on an impromptu fact-finding mission, following a lead. Being left behind did not sit well with Derek. The sense of trepidation had made him restless. He roamed through the empty house, checking and rechecking security and weapons, waiting—though for what, he wasn't sure.

So when the phone rang at quarter 'til 1, he knew it was trouble long before he'd exchanged code words with Sarah. He'd grabbed a gun and was on his way to the door by the time she said, "I got a call from John's school."

He hesitated only a moment as his mind abruptly switched gears. That the threat was to John instead of Sarah only made it more immediate. "What happened?" he asked shortly as he headed for the car.

She sighed a bit, and he realized her tone hadn't been as urgent as he'd expect when her son was in danger. He slowed, pausing with his hand on the door handle. "Sarah?"

"He's in the nurse's office. He's running a fever; they're insisting someone come and pick him up."

He blinked. "What?"

She sighed again, apparently at his denseness. "He's sick, Derek. It doesn't sound too serious, but they won't let him go by himself. You'll have to go and get him."

"Right." He was having difficulty shifting out of battle mode. "Okay. I'm on my way."

"I…I told them that his uncle would be coming for him."

He froze with the key half turned in the ignition. The car sputtered indignantly, but he was busy weighing the ramifications of the sudden statement. They'd all been so intent on keeping it from him. "You did," he said flatly, carefully.

"They ask fewer questions with family," she said simply. "Just play the part."

"Right," Derek answered, trying to keep his own tone as mild. "Well. I think I can pull that off."

"Of course. Listen, when you get him home, there should be a thermometer and some over-the-counter stuff in the medicine cabinet."

He started the car. "I know where everything is."

"Yes, it's just that…well, John's not usually the best of patients. He won't tell you how he's really feeling. He'll probably refuse whatever medicine you try to give him. He's horribly cranky and clingy in turns…"

"Sarah," he interrupted firmly. "I took care of a sick kid in a war zone, more than once. I think I can handle it."

There was then a long moment of strained silence, and he almost felt bad for the outburst. Almost.

When she finally spoke again, it was with a softer tone. "All right. I'll try not to worry."

"Keep your mind on the matter at hand. I've got John."

oOo

He went straight to the main office like a good visiting relative and pretended he hadn't committed the layout of the school to memory when the student office assistant guided him to the infirmary. He smiled charmingly at the older woman who was manning the room even as he took quick stock of the surroundings. It was like a small waiting room, crowded with several miserable-looking kids who sat in chairs lined up along one wall. None of them were John. That probably put him behind the curtained-off area in the back of the room. Derek resisted the urge to march straight to it, instead turning more of his attention to the nurse as she addressed him with a weary smile.

"You must be John's uncle."

Outwardly he kept his friendly demeanor, though he mentally narrowed his eyes at her. Why would she assume that? They didn't share too obvious a resemblance. From the crowd in here, he expected she was waiting on several parents. Perhaps it was just that he didn't look old enough to have fathered a high-schooler. After a beat he confirmed, "That's me. Looks like you're having a busy day."

"Bit of an epidemic, really." She gestured for him to follow her towards the curtains. "It's frightening how quickly the flu spreads through a concentrated group of teenagers." She held the curtain back for him and he stepped around her.

There he hesitated for a moment. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting; probably for John to be seated in one of those chairs out there looking vaguely ill. This was not that. This was John curled up on a bed, shivering. He wasn't even awake, his sleep obviously fitful as he twitched, clenching and unclenching his fist.

He wasn't sure what his expression looked like, but the nurse patted him on the arm and drew him nearer. "He looks bad, I know. His mother gave us permission to give him Tylenol but it hasn't had time to kick in yet. His fever's still fairly high."

He stepped closer. "He seemed fine this morning," he commented with a furrowed brow.

"It can hit them quickly. Though honestly, I'm surprised he stuck it out in class as long as he did. Most of them show up here the second they begin to feel bad."

Derek pasted on his smile again. "Yeah, he's a trooper." He leaned over, taking hold of John's shoulder and giving him a little shake. "John."

John shrank from the touch, but didn't wake. He mumbled something that sounded like 'machine gun.' Derek cast a wary look the nurse's way before he tried again, this time injecting a hint of command into his tone. "John, wake up."

He came awake with a gasp, pulling away from Derek's hold so sharply that he cracked his back against the wall as his eyes darted around, fight or flight response engaged.

Derek backed off a bit and knelt down, reminding himself firmly that this was a teenaged John Connor and a sick one at that. He had some training, more than enough to probably cause quite a scene in this little school infirmary, but he wasn't a full-blown soldier. He was a scared kid. "John," he said again, this time trying to gentle his tone. "It's Derek. I'm here to take you home."

John took in several shaky breaths, wiping a hand across his face, probably trying to shake the vestiges of whatever dream he'd been trapped in. "Derek," he finally said. "Where's Mom?"

"She's out of town, remember? She asked me to come and get you."

John studied him with fever-bright eyes. "Oh. Yeah."

The nurse smiled at him from the corner. "All right, sweetheart? You go home with your uncle and work on getting better."

It was a testament to how out-of-it he was that the boy didn't seem to even take note of the 'uncle' comment. "Yes ma'am," he managed, trying to lever himself off the tiny mattress. Derek reached to steady him before turning to her, hand still firmly on John's arm. "Thank you. We'll let you get back to your other patients."

"Yes, I suppose I should." She sighed, but put her determined smile back on and turned to face the crowd of students, which seemed to have grown in the short amount of time they'd been back there. Derek was respecting the woman more by the minute.

They headed for the car; Derek forced to get a better grip on the boy as John listed into him. He could feel the heat of the fever through the layers of clothing.

When he got John situated in the passenger seat and had climbed in behind the wheel, he turned to ask, "How you feeling?" A stupid and obvious question, but he was less after information and more interested in what sort of answer he'd get.

"Okay," John said wearily, even as his listed towards the window and shut his eyes.

"Right," Derek answered with a sigh, starting the car.

oOo

Sarah Connor was not really the sort to kid around. Derek had known this, of course. Still, it was surprising how very much she had not been kidding about John's tendency to be a bad patient.

He was somewhat sympathetic because he knew the kid felt miserable. But John flat out refused to admit that.

He kept disappearing when Derek turned his back, stumbling to the bathroom by himself and refusing to ask for help. He didn't want medicine; he didn't want the thermometer anywhere near him.

What he did want was the heavy, far-too-warm fleece blanket off his Mom's bed. Derek knew that the last thing he needed was to increase his body heat, so he kept taking the blanket away. John somehow kept retrieving it. Derek couldn't tell if he didn't understand because he was half-delirious from the fever or if he was just stubborn. By the fifth time he walked in to find the kid buried under that blanket, he didn't much care which it was. He just wanted John to follow a damn order.

"John," he bit out loudly, frustration bleeding through as he yanked the blanket off.

John caught hold of the end and swatted at him weakly as he tugged it back. "I'm cold," he whined.

Derek wouldn't budge. "No, you're really not."

"Go away," John retorted maturely.

"Would that I could, Connor," Derek snapped back, more sharply than he'd intended.

And of course, that would by the one statement to make it through John's haze. He stopped fighting; went limp so abruptly that Derek almost fell over when the resistance in their little tug of war disappeared.

After that, Derek could hardly get any response at all. Now it was a question of whether John was listless from the illness and possible dehydration or from anger and hurt.

A good soldier knew when to call for reinforcements. And, if nothing else, Derek Reese was a good soldier.

He still swore under his breath as he picked up the phone.

oOo

He opened the door just as Charley raised his hand to knock. The other man blinked at him for a moment before allowing himself to be pulled inside. "Derek," he said in greeting.

"Were you followed?" Derek returned shortly, not because he thought it likely but more to make a point.

"I don't think so."

"Is that a 'maybe'?"

"Admittedly, I'm not as experienced with this as you all are. But I'm not too keen to risk either my life or Sarah and John's, so I'm always careful now."

It was a good answer. Derek accepted it grudgingly, gesturing into the house. "Come on in."

Charley glanced around, probably looking for signs of blood. Derek's phone call had been a bit vague. "Who's injured? You seem all right."

"Try not to sound so disappointed." Charley didn't bother to respond as Derek led him towards John's bedroom. "No one's injured. I just said that someone needed you."

One glance at the bed and Charley was done sparing attention for Derek. John was tossing and turning again. Charley reached to touch his back before shifting a hand to his forehead.

Derek cleared his throat. "The school nurse says its flu. Seems they've got a lot of it going around. He's just…"

Charley shot him a knowing look. "Difficult?"

"That's a polite way to put it."

John came awake with a start again and Charley quickly sat down so he wasn't looming over the boy. "Easy, Johnny. Just me," he soothed. He clearly had some experience with this situation.

"Charley?" John croaked. And he actually seemed to relax, tension seeping from him.

Derek knew he had made the right call. He stood just inside the room, watching as John became reasonably cooperative under Charley's familiar hands. The paramedic checked him over gently and efficiently.

"Charley?" John said weakly, leaning into the older man as he tried to listen to his lungs.

"Yeah, Johnny?"

"I don't feel so great."

"I know, kiddo." Charley put the stethoscope aside and tugged John around into a proper hug, letting the boy rest his entire weight against his chest. John clumsily wound his arms around him in return, hanging on weakly to what little comfort he could find. Charley kissed the top of his head and stroked his back lightly.

Derek had to step away.

He turned and walked down the hall. Unwilling to go too far, he sank down to sit against the wall, clenching his jaw against a surge of emotion he refused to welcome.

He wasn't sure at first why the scene had hit him so hard. He thought about it. Here was John Connor, the man he knew as a hard-assed, solitary soldier with a severe lack of people skills. Except this was not that John Connor, not yet. It was near impossible to reconcile the two images. He couldn't treat John like the Connor he knew, because the kid was decidedly _not_.

But the part of this realization that was like a punch in the face was that Derek didn't _want_ him to be.

Because that boy in there…he was just so _young_. He had a sweetness about him, an innocence. That was why the image of him with Charley—with the closest thing he'd ever had to a father figure—had effected him so much more than even the whining and childishness of earlier. That should have been Kyle's role. And it wasn't at all difficult for him to imagine Kyle with John…mostly because of his own memories of Kyle with him.

He was still sitting in the same position when Charley finally emerged from the room quite a while later. The other man spotted him and came to a stop about a foot away, staring down at him. "You all right?"

"Nursing must be an exhausting profession," Derek evaded.

"With teenagers involved, any profession can be exhausting." He held out a hand, which Derek considered for a long moment before accepting. "He's asleep again, finally," Charley continued as they walked out into the kitchen. "It's not too severe a case. He should be fine in a few days. Just keep him hydrated, and try to keep his fever down. It's really all you can do." As soon as he said it he hesitated, glancing back at Derek.

He arched an eyebrow. "Something else?"

"His nightmares are much worse when he's not feeling well."

That, Derek suspected, was a bit of a test—to see if he even knew about the nightmares. He did. "I've noticed."

Charley nodded, considering him carefully before he said, "I don't know how close you've gotten, or how comfortable he is with you. But if you're willing…if you stay with him—in the room, within arm's reach—it will probably help. He'll sleep better if someone he trusts is nearby."

Derek considered it with a slow nod.

"I've got to get home to my wife. But I can come back tomorrow," Charley added. It wasn't a question, but it wasn't a definitive statement either. He was seeking permission.

Derek hesitated, but he knew he wouldn't deny it. Not when he'd seen the way John responded to the man. "Yeah. That'll be fine."

oOo

After Charley had gone, Derek forced himself to eat something before he headed back to John's room, glass of water in hand. He'd dreaded having to wake him, but John was already awake, staring blearily at the door.

"Hey," Derek said quietly. "Feeling a little better?"

John blinked at him. "Yeah." It might have even been true.

"Charley says to keep you hydrated," he said by way of explanation as he prodded John into a sitting position and helped him steady the glass.

John was surprisingly docile, drinking without complaint. "Did he leave?" he finally asked when half of the glass was empty.

"Yeah, he had to get home."

"Oh." He said nothing else, but the dejection was obvious.

Derek hastened to add, "Said he'd check on you tomorrow, though."

John perked up a little. "Oh. Okay."

He finished the water and Derek took the glass back. "You miss him, huh?"

"Kinda a lot, yeah." He looked down at the sheets, bangs falling into his eyes. "It's just…we were a family with him. You know?"

He knew intellectually that John had had a rough childhood, was still having it, in fact. But seeing the emotion of it was a different matter altogether. "Yeah, I know," he answered roughly. He reached out to squeeze the kid's shoulder. John looked up at him, eyes wide and unsettlingly vulnerable.

Derek cleared his throat and stood. "I'm gonna refill the glass and sit it here, okay? You need to drink as much as you can. Why don't you try to get some more sleep?"

John nodded. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Sure thing, kid."

When he got back with the glass, John was lying down again. He was clearly half asleep, but he flipped over to track Derek's movements as he set the water down and then retreated to the chair in the corner. "I'm just gonna hang out here, if that's okay."

"Mmph," was his only response before John burrowed back into the pillows.

So John slept, and Derek sat. That was all right. He wasn't unaccustomed to long periods spent keeping watch.

And when John began to show signs of distress again, he was ready. He moved, hesitating only a moment before easing himself onto the bed. As he settled against the headboard John rolled towards him, opened bleary eyes for a heartbeat or two, then shifted a little closer and buried his face in the pillow against Derek's hip. He was snoring softly less than a minute later.

Derek was ridiculously afraid to move. He tentatively reached out, very gently brushing back the hair that had fallen over John's eyes.

He couldn't help but stare; couldn't help getting lost in the memories. He wondered, not for the first time, why Connor chose him to come back. Did he know this relationship would develop? If he did, what exactly did he want his younger self to get from Derek?

Did he know that Derek, who would never have guessed their relation as adults, would see Kyle in young John almost immediately?

Something in his chest ached. He had to fight the ridiculous urge to pull the sick boy into his arms and just hold him. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of _this_ boy becoming _that_ man.

He forced his gaze away, tilting his head back to rest against the wall. He'd spent a while only able to see John as too immature and emotional—too far from ready. Now, he was beginning to think he'd do just about anything to negate the need for him to ever be ready, to ever have to become that soldier. He was starting to think of his mission less in terms of saving the world and more in terms of saving John. Maybe that was a good thing.

Time would tell.

oOo


End file.
